the first page

Gordon yawned wide, squeezing sleepy tears from the corners of his eyes.

His shoulders hunched under the worn fabric of his jacket stretching it taut. He knew he should get a new one but dammit he liked this one and thought it looked cool therefore, by default, he looked cool. Change was not easy for him on such visible levels.

Dragging his cellphone from his pocket to check the time he looked around the cafe furtively. Where the hell was he? This was so not his style, not his people. Too much chrome and too damn chic.

"Fucking beautiful people," he mumbled to himself with a mocking sneer.

Rubbing his eyes blearily he tried to focus on the newspaper in front of him again. Tried to marshal his thoughts for the posed question.

6 across: Young quadrupeds to be handled with care.

Too easy. Even for this time of the morning and only on one coffee. Kid gloves.

He scowled. the only thing worse than a crossword that's too difficult is one that's too easy. Sure you get the satisfaction of getting them right but that pleasure is ultimately hollow since you know you're playing well below your game.

He lent on his hand and stared moodily out the window, fingers tapping the pen on the table.

For fucks sake! She'd said 8 o fucking clock and it's 8:30 now, where the hell is she? After he'd made such a herculean effort to be on time too.

Fucking mornings. He was so not a morning person.

There was a theory he'd vaguely heard that explained why some people are day people and others are night owls. It had something to do with back when humans were wearing the latest in uncured mammoth hide and still thought fire was a groovy new invention. Apparently some people had been chosen to guard the rest of the clan when they slept and these people eventually became genetically predisposed to prefer the night

He liked this idea except for the guarding bit. Sod the rest of the clan, they can get munched by a sabretooth for all he cared. Gordon was not what you'd call full of the milk of human kindness.

Swirling the dregs of his coffee he decided he'd give her till 9 and then he was gone. Besides which the cafe staff were beginning to give him the evils. He was far too shabby for their tastes.

When it came down to it he was too shabby for his own tastes, but it'd been his 'style' for so long he felt trapped by it. People expected him to look scruffy and would always look surprised & amused if he made attempts at tidiness. Plus it gave him a perverse pleasure to look worse than he should just to annoy people. Especially his mother.

He flicked through the paper again, giving the articles a third look, searching for something to get interested in or at least annoyed about. Other than shoddy reporting and sensationalism appealing to his so-called emotions. That just made him want to set fire to the rag.

Screw this.

He lurched erect, collected his stuff and mooched out the door with an ironic salute to the visibly relieved wait staff.

Damn, now what? He dithered on the street for a moment, pretending to send a text with his phone while he made up his mind.

Being up so early meant that he now had several hours to kill before he could settle into his usual daily routine. Not that the routine amounted to much really, more of a vague guideline to the day.